Vampire on the Mayflower!
by jmr27
Summary: Samuel Campbell said that Sam and Dean had ancestors chopping heads off of vampires on the Mayflower. Who were they? Major prequel, only original characters. Men of Letters and Hunters collide while hunting vampires and witches on the Mayflower in December of 1620.
1. Chapter 1

**Major prequel, set on the Mayflower. Remember when Samuel Campbell said that they had ancestors beheading vampires on the Mayflower? Well, he wasn't the only one. Meet Thomas Winchester, Man of Letters, and his big sister Anne.**

 _Diary of Thomas Winchester, Man of Letters_

 _Being an account of his journey to the New World_

 _December 1, 1620_

 _It has been three months since we set sail from England, and we have lost two of our company. Poor souls, I cannot blame her for wishing to depart this world. We have nothing to eat but hard tack, jerked beef, and the water tastes like someone has been washing his feet in the barrel. It is very curious, the deceased were found pale and cold, as if drained of blood. It is possible there is a vampire on board._

"Possible? Ha! I'd say it's a bit more than possible." A familiar voice laughed somewhere in the space behind his head.

Tom flicked his hand toward the back of his neck as if flicking away a fly buzzing in his ear. "Anne! I've asked you to stop reading over my shoulder."

"Yes, but you hide your journal when I'm not looking, so how else am I supposed to find out what's going on?" Anne settled on a stool and snatched the journal from her younger brother. She was always taking things from him, as if being older meant that she was entitled to be as nosy as a mother. Thomas had yet to figure out a way to stop her. Truly, he didn't mind, except that a woman shouldn't meddle in a man's things and Anne always got herself into trouble when she did.

Which also would not have mattered, Anne could more than fend for herself. Except Thomas was supposed to take care of his sister, despite the fact he was five years her junior. Their father always reminded him of this fact, and so did society, every time Anne ruffled someone's feathers and a man asked who was responsible for this headstrong woman.

Anne read for a moment, flipped back a back, and then frowned. "You didn't put in the bit about poor Hannah Chilton."

"A thirteen year old girl's tragic demise while spending an illicit night with her lover is hardly something the Men of Letters need to preserve for posterity!" Tom reached for the journal, but Anne held it back. She had her back to the corner of their small cabin, and he would have to pin her to the wall and put his hands in very unseemly places in order to reclaim it. They were brother and sister, but Father had instilled in him a sense of propriety that made Tom a gentleman at all times, even though to he used to tumble and wrestle with Anne as if she were a brother when they were both small. Anne used it to her full advantage.

"Ah, but it would make good reading. Give those old farts something to keep their blood pumping. Besides, her lover might be the vampire. She may not have been seduced at all, poor thing." Anne pulled at one of her curls. Both siblings shared chestnut-brown hair, but while Thomas' was smooth and sleek, Anne's curled in all directions. A little like her personality, never able to be fully contained. He wondered that they had survived three months on the same ship with a group of Puritans.

"She was pale and cold when she was found, but she had been lying on the deck all night, where Harry said she fell asleep after-" Tom stumbled over the next words, and he could feel the heat of his own blush. Anne never blushed, and Tom was severely jealous of this fact.

Anne giggled. "Really, Tom. You're as bad as the Puritans." Anne sighed and added more gently, "She was a sweet girl, very obedient to her parents, and could hardly look a boy in the eye without blushing."

"I hadn't noticed…"

"You wouldn't. You've been too busy comparing notes on ancient languages with Mr. White."

"He's the only one on this miserable boat with any education!" Tom's shoulders slumped with a sigh. "I should have been sent to Jamestown. I spent days talking with Rebecca Rolfe about the land and her people, and then the Men of Letters send me to who knows where, with Puritans!" Tom threw up his hands in disgust. All of his hopes had been dashed, but he knew better than to argue with the Elders. He'd only been initiated last year, and had many years of hard study ahead of him before he could hope to sit among the prestigious elite who governed their organization. He'd hoped Father would use his influence, but if Charles Winchester had put in a good word for his only son, it had been behind closed doors.

Anne, of course, didn't have any sympathy for his problems. "Well, at least they let you study, and write, and discuss Hebrew and Greek. I tried to correct Mr. White the other day and he started praying over me, as if I was possessed with some kind of demon."

"Mr. Gans should have never encouraged you." Thomas didn't know how Anne kept talking people into letting her do things they knew she shouldn't. Everyone thought it was harmless fun, humoring the girl, but they didn't see the danger. They didn't know how many times Thomas had found her cornered by a man she'd pushed too far. Nothing terrible had happened yet, but if she didn't learn to control her tongue, it would. He wanted his sister to be free, to be able to do as she pleased, but the world wouldn't let her and she just didn't seem to see the danger.

"I'm just as smart as you, little brother!" Anne flicked a lock of hair out of his face, making him flinch back.

Tom sighed and kissed her hand fondly. "I know, sister, I know. But you'll get in trouble if you let the wrong people know it."

Anne put her feet up, leaned back, and crossed her arms with a dark look. As if she wanted it to happen, just so she could have an excuse to fight. Anne loved a good debate, and had she been a man, would have been brawling in the pubs every weekend. Thomas had never hit another man, although he could handle a sword and had won several fencing matches among the other candidates studying to be Men of Letters.

The ship pitched sideways, sending Anne, the journal, and the ink pot flying.

"No, my ink! That's the last of what I brought." Tom snatched for the ink pot to save the precious black fluid, leaving Anne sprawled across the floor. Some things were more important that propriety.

At least Anne understood that. Most girls would have cried that Thomas care more for his ink that the state of their dresses. Anne just raised her hands in the air and wiggled her fingers imperiously. "Whenever you're ready, little brother. Damn these petticoats, they make it impossible to do anything." Anne kicked at the skirts that had tangled around her legs until Tom reached down and hauled her up with just one arm.

"You'll get no argument from me." Tom waited until she had brushed off her clothes and asked, "Do you really think Hannah was a victim? Her parents-"

"Her parents are embarrassed by how she was found and so are cursing her to avoid bringing shame on themselves. They've even had her name removed from the list of passengers. I helped prepare her body for burial. She didn't have a drop of blood left in her, and there were bite marks on her legs, where prudent Puritan women wouldn't dare to look."

"Vampires." A tremor ran through his spine. Tom gathered up his journal, ink and quill. He steeled his shoulders, mind made up. "I think it's time I did something about this."

Anne's eyebrows climbed to the top of her head. "Do what? Tom, you're not a hunter."

Tom shuddered at the thought and clutched his books close. "No, thank goodness. We Winchesters are Men of Letters through and through. But if innocents are dying, it is my duty to do something." He felt the weight of all those souls on board, over a hundred. "What good is our knowledge if we cannot use it for good?"

"No good at all if you get yourself killed." It was the one thing that could make Anne step back from a fight, the need to protect her little brother. She cared for him as fiercely as a mother, since their own had died when he was born. She'd taught Tom his letters and helped him learn to read while their father was busy with his other duties.

Anne put up an arm to stop Tom from leaving their small cabin. "Tom. Promise me you'll do nothing foolish, and you'll talk to me about it first." She fixed him with sharp eyes, pinning him to the wall until he nodded meekly.

"Yes, Anne. I've no desire to be the next item on the vampire's menu."

"Good." Anne took the books from his hands with a sly smile. "I'll just tidy up and put these away while you go talk with the boys. See you at supper."

Tom reached toward his journal, but gave up and allowed the gesture to morph into a half-hearted wave. What was the use? She would do whatever she wanted, and no man or social convention would stop her. "Until supper, good lady."

 **NOTE: I am trying to be somewhat historically accurate with this, but I've seen different sources on the dates of the deaths on the Mayflower. Rebecca Rolfe is Pocahontas (she married and Englishman, John Rolfe). Joachim Gans was a metallurgist who was a Roanoke, but left before the colonists vanished. I've made him into a Man of Letters.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Now we meet the Campbell Cousins, Isaac and Amos.**

Isaac Campbell stood on deck, heedless of the December wind slapping at his skin like an icy whip. He didn't even have a coat to protect his narrow frame, though is cousin Amos huddled into his greatcoat, chin buried in the collar, hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were wide, making him look even younger than his seventeen years. There was moisture in his eyes. Crying for a man who he had barely known? The boy was never going to survive the hunting life if he held onto sentimentality.

Isaac watched the burial with dry eyes, his face an impassible mask, heart similarly unmoved. Another corpse, another hunt. And the 'Saints' as they called themselves, would not allow him to burn the body. No, they had gone ashore to bury the man, and in a few years would reap the consequences of leaving a spirit to roam and fester until its power grew strong enough to kill more of their number.

If the company survived the winter. They were roaming the coast now, looking for a place to land a build their new colony. Food stores were running low and the ground would not thaw for planting for another four months at least.

Isaac had no pity for men and women who didn't have enough sense to keep themselves safe from the known dangers of hunger and thirst. Yet he would bleed for them before this was over, so that they did not wind up one someone-or something-else's dinner table.

"I think it's a vampire," Amos said, pulling his chin out of his coat. "He was all drained of blood, and I saw the bite on his neck."

"It can't be a vampire," Isaac replied patiently, though he felt anything but. They had had this conversation before. "I warded this ship from all monsters before these good folk boarded." He gestured to the Puritans in their dark garb, watching the funeral in a cluster on the other side of the deck. "No vampire, werewolf, ghoul or ghost could get aboard this ship. The captain paid me well and made sure the wards did not wash off before we embarked. I've checked them all. There is no way a vampire could board this ship."

Amos huffed. "But the evidence!"

"What are we here to hunt?" Isaac turned away from the funeral and fixed his younger cousin with a stern eye.

"A witch," Amos muttered, looking down at his toes.

The two were as different as night at day, for all they looked alike as brothers, and Isaac lamented once again that Amos' father had not been able to come on this mission. Amos was young, although not entirely inexperienced, he had done little more than dig up corpses. The boy had been raised by a loving family, his mother and father both surviving to his adulthood, providing for his every need, training him, keeping him close and safe until he was deemed old enough to face the dangers of a hunter's world.

Isaac had no such happy childhood. His mother died of fever when he was three, his father killed on a hunt in France when he was five, Isaac had been alone. He could not remember learning about the things that go bump in the night, because he had always known they were there. He did remember his wonder when he realized that other children did not know what could be lurking under their beds, or outside their bedroom windows.

There had been no one to take Isaac in, no mother to keep him warm, no father to show him the way to use a pistol or a sword. He had lived on the streets of Europe for half a decade before his father's brother had found him and brought him home. His uncle Benjamin had quickly seen that Isaac did not need to be kept home and safe if Amos, and had taken him to hunt at the age of eleven.

Benjamin Cambpell had died of infected wounds after a fight, not with wolf or ghost, but with a man in a pub who thought him to be part of the supernatural world he hunted.

There was a reason hunters did not speak of their profession, did not trade tales or knowledge where others could hear. They kept their learning in books that few could read, although those numbers were growing with every generation now as the Reformation spread across Europe. And beyond.

Isaac looked out at the New World, as they called it. There were no frames of homes, no smoking chimneys or city streets visible from the rugged coastline. Yet there were people here, tribes of men and women who lived in a way no one in Europe could comprehend. Isaac wondered what they must thing of this strange ship loitering off their coast, and what weapons they might bring to bear if they decided these new visitors were not welcome.

"What if it is a vampire witch!"

Isaac closed his eyes to search within for patience. Benjamin, he had loved like a father. Amos, he barely knew and what he had seen he already did not care for. The boy was too eager, and thought himself entirely too clever, a trait that was likely to get him killed before he learned better. Isaac was determined to return him to his mother alive, if he didn't strangle his cousin himself, first.

"There is no such thing."

"There could be. Why not? Vampires were once men."

Isaac paused. Amos' argument did have merit, but, "I told you, the ship was warded." He paused. Amos did not like to have things explained to him, he liked to solve puzzles. Isaac turned the lecture on the tip of his tongue to a question. "How often must a vampire feed?"

"At least once a month."

"How long have we been on this ship?"

"Oh." Amos' face fell. "But in three months we have not seen a sing of the witch you think is on board."

"She is here. I followed her trail to this ship."

"It's a lucky thing the captain believed you and gave us passage with the crew." Amos wriggled deeper into his coat. "She could have left by now, disappeared into the woods." He nodded at the bleak coastline.

"I think not. We have had no deaths among the company until now. The witch's hand is in this." Isaac moved toward the hatch that would take them below decks, and Amos followed gratefully.

A woman stood at the bottom of the ladder. Although dressed in simple traveling clothes, she was clearly not a Puritan. Her hair was too wild, the cut of her bodice too low. Isaac had noted her and her brother's presence among the passengers, but had not questioned it. She could not be the witch; it was too obvious a solution. If she and her brother were foolish enough to come to the New World, he had not wish to meddle in their business.

But clearly, she wanted to meddle in theirs.

"A witch? I thought it was a vampire. The bodies have all been drained of blood, with identical bite marks."

"That's what I said!" Amos puffed up triumphantly, happy to have an ally.

Isaac glanced from side to side and saw sailors staring. He grabbed the woman by the arm and hustled her away from superstitious ears. How could she now about vampires but not know enough to keep her mouth shut in public? With the girl making noises about him hurting her arm, and Amos prancing, vindicated, behind, Isaac just knew this day was going from bad to worse.

 **I know this isn't the sort of thing people usually write on this site, so reviews are appreciated. Please let me know if you are interested in reading more!**


	3. Chapter 3

**What happens when Campbells and Winchesters collide?**

"That hurts!" Anne hissed and wriggled her wrist inside the man's firm grip. It didn't do more than pinch, really, but she knew better than to give a man an order. Telling him to 'let go of me' might just make things worse. If he was a decent man, he would release her. If he wasn't, she would only make him more angry by fighting, which meant it would only hurt her more in the end.

The grip on her wrist looses slightly, but did not release her. Instead, the man steered her into a small cabin. The food storage locker, half the shelves were empty, the other half filled with flour and dried things. The man pressed her backwards into the shelving, looming over her. Behind him, his companion shut the door. They were both tall and solidly built, with not an extra ounce of fat on them. Crewmen, not Puritans, though Anne knew from experience that the black clothing didn't make much difference when it came to how they treated women. Anne drew in a deep breath and held it ready for as loud a scream as she could manage.

But she didn't scream yet. Because she knew she had heard them right. They had spoken of witches and vampires in a way no saintly Puritan nor superstitious seaman would.

"Be careful what you say around these folk," the man growled. Then he stepped back, releasing her and putting as much distance between them as the small space would allow.

Anne let her breath out, and laughed. "A woman is always careful what she says around a man."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? And who are you, Madame, who are so bold and know the difference between a witch-kill and a vampire's meal?"

"Anne Winchester. I am traveling with my brother, Thomas. And who are you, sir?"

He inclined his head and tipped his cap. "Isaac Campbell, this is my cousin, Amos." He gestured to the younger man behind him. He was gangly, not quite full-grown yet, but with an eager face, like a puppy. Isaac himself was impassive, his face could have been chiseled from stone for all the expression he showed. "We are here to find and kill a witch."

Anne's eyes narrowed, and she looked the men over more closely. They were both armed to the teeth; knives stuck in their boots, pistols in their belts. Each wore a leather cord around his neck. Anne reached forward and plucked the necklace out from under Isaac's shirt, revealing a five-pointed star.

"Hunting a witch, you say? Most would think this marks you as one of their kind."

Isaac's face grew dark, and he snatched the charm back to tuck it out of sight again. "Most people know nothing about witches but that drivel the Spanish have spread."

"The Spanish didn't start the witch-hunts, they just perfect them. You should know that. Campbell. You're Hunters."

Isaac's eyebrows climbed his face. He could hear the capital H in the title. "Indeed we are. And you." He reached out and lifted up her hand, running a thumb along the middle finger which was covered in ink blots. "Clearly, you are more interested in books than these Puritan women who will only read their Bibles. How strange. I've heard of men who study the occult and all things supernatural, but never a woman."

"No, never a woman," Anne muttered. She knew that better than most. "My brother is a Man of Letters, here to see what wonders the New World holds."

"Ah." Isaac dropped her hand, satisfied. "I did not know one of their number would be on this ship."

"Well, no one told us there would be a Hunter on board, either."

"We didn't plan it," the cousin, Amos, piped up around Isaac's shoulder. "It was a last-minute thing. We tracked the witch to this ship, and convinced the captain to let us come aboard the night before he sailed."

"Anne!" The muffled bellow echoed through the hallway outside and someone thumped on the door, making the hinges rattle. "Anne! I warn you! If you've harmed my sister-"

Isaac nodded to Amos, who pulled the door open. Thomas, banging away at the door, nearly hit Amos instead, but Isaac's hand landed between them, catching Thomas' fist.

 _He's strong_. Anne curled her lip appreciatively.

Thomas gasped, shook his hand free, and called to his sister, "Anne! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Tom, just fine. I've been making some new friends, you really should meet them. I don't know how we managed the whole voyage without running into them before."

"Crew doesn't fraternize with passengers," Amos said glumly. "I'm not allowed to talk to anyone who doesn't work for the captain."

The Puritans did love their rules, and didn't want to be contaminated by the crew's rough ways. Anne had been grateful for it, at times. Thomas ducked under Isaac and placed his hand on Anne's shoulder. "You're sure you're alright?" He eyed the spot in her skirt where he knew she kept her pistol.

Anne gripped his shoulder with a firm hand. "Yes, Thomas, I'm fine. These gentlemen just needed a private place to speak. Though they could have been more polite about it." She gave Isaac a stern look.

Isaac did not look apologetic at all. _Hm_. Working with him was going to be like waltzing with a bear. Somehow, she didn't think Isaac would be too keen to take orders from a junior Man of Letters.

Thomas leaned closer to Anne, his eyes never leaving the two Hunters. "What is going on?"

Anne's lips curled into a smile. "We have a job to do."

 **NOTE: To those who were interested in this story, many thanks! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I love reviews!**


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